The Inevitable 1700s Piracy AU
by SleeplessShinyOne
Summary: "It's not the first time he's been threatened by a half-naked woman. The same God-damned woman every time, too." Title says it all: I've finally given in and written about our favorite pirates, Mindfang and Dualscar, and the rest of the cast and crew (ha!). Humanstuck. Terribly cheesy and hopefully funny.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've resisted long enough, and it's time to post this dumb thing.

I started it when I got my computer:** last March**. (would you believe?) I knew it was only a matter of time before I had a need to post it, and I've been writing it a lot lately. Okay. Here is is: a dumb pirate Homestuck ancestors fanfiction set in about the 1700s or so.

If I fuck up something historical, let me know. (_looks pointedly at history nerds) _I'm mostly in this for the pirates. So far, I've got Dualscar, Mindfang, and Dolorosa, although I do plan to include The Summoner, The Condesce, The Sufferer, and some more. WARNING: This is already pretty sexual. It will only get worse. Although I don't really go much into detail with the sexy, so assume this is more T+ than M.

* * *

_The Inevitable 1700s Piracy AU: Chapter One_

* * *

On nights where the crew and the captain are starving, it has always been this bad. The world has always been this gloomy, they have always gone to bed with hollow stomachs, their ribs have always stuck out when they look in the mirror. On nights where they feast, the sky has always been this open with possibility, there has always been turkey dripping with fat, there are always buttery potatoes crammed into their cheeks; feasts are every night, damn the stockpiling.

The ship may well be called the_ Opportunist_, for what it is. There is no middle ground. It is high spirits or depression, it is gluttony or starvation, it is affection or frigidity.

With a collective temperament like this, it's no wonder that the captain is a little unhinged.

Directly opposite the do-or-die mentality aboard _Valiant Fortune, _there is the carefully rationed and controlled atmosphere of _Honor's Mast. _Nobody goes unaccounted for, and everybody reports. There is enough food, yet not too much. The admiral stalks up and down the hallways, shiny boots and shiny hair impeccable. He can thank you in Portuguese, tell you it's a pleasure to see you in German, and properly guide an English lady of proper breeding to her proper quarters in the ship during proper negotiations. He's had an Eton education followed by a Royal Navy education, and he's proud of it.

When both ships are docked at any town at the same time, it's usually all thrown out the window.

They had been young once, the captain and the admiral, and she had been ambitious and so had he.

Yes, that's right- **she**_._

_ He had been at the first high-society event that he actually cared about: a spring dance. He was about eleven, full of stifled fidgets in his ruffled collar, trying so hard to make a good impression on the young ladies as they giggled behind their fans and pulled delicately at the strings in their flat, wide hats. His father sat beside him at dinner that night with ramrod-straight posture, feet planted firmly on the ground. He had always thought his father was a divine creature, how else could he be so very wise and at the same time give such harsh punishments for misbehavior?_

_ They had stepped outside so Father could smoke a new pipe imported from the colonies. The stars twinkled and the moon gently lit the balcony. Below them, the cobblestones of the street wound away into patterns that had always impressed the young boy._

_ A man passed by below them, and his father stiffened in a way he had never seen, beginning to walk quickly down the stairs to the street. He had harsh words with the rough-looking man, and as it was getting more heated, a small figure broke away from the strange man's side and ran up the stairs with fluid ease._

_ It was a girl in a plain dress, nothing remarkable. She didn't wear a hat, and her dark hair billowed uncontrollably behind her as she dashed the final two steps and shoved the young boy, her face contorted into a snarl. "Your father's nothin' but a tyrant!"_

_Below, as the voices rose, hands were also being raised in vaguely threatening positions, and all of a sudden on that balcony on the spring night the boy didn't know what to do with the sudden spark of hatred he felt. He looked the girl in the eyes and was surprised by her unflinching cerulean gaze. His voice cracked as he asked her "Who do you think you are, attacking me like this?"_

_She laughed then, her head lolling back and her shoulders shaking. Her voice was tinted with hatred as much as his as she replied "I have rights to 'tack anyone I want!" _

_"Valisa, come down here," the scruffy man had called, and she had turned and spat at him- the man who could have been her own father!- then punched the boy in the face._

_He could still feel the sting sometimes when he thought of her._

_When they had returned to the dance, his father having reported the man to local security, the young boy was reassured that lower-class people were rowdy trouble-starters and this is why he shouldn't associate with them._

_The boy had heartily agreed and then asked the countess's daughter to dance. He was turned down._

_That night with the girl and the man was the beginning of a lifelong enemy rivalry._

_No matter how he had progressed through his life, first a brimming, bright boy, then a lanky and awkward youth, and finally a muscled and virtuous man, she had been the bane of his existence. Valisa, the daughter of the horrible criminal who was later found guilty of black market dealings._

_Well, if he was horrible she was twice as bad. She was loud, impulsive, unpredictable, and worst of all, she was-_

"A _pirate,_" Dualscar exhales angrily, kicking the mop bucket on deck over in his preoccupation with memories.

A deckhand looks up as he springs to fix the mess. "Did you say something, Ad'mral?"

"No, nothing."

The sight of the _Valiant Fortune _had sent him into a veritable fit of rage. How dare she dock here, with her mannerless crew and her disregard for _national law? _He had been standing leaning against the mast for a good quarter of an hour, watching the fluyt's brash Union Jack flags flutter in the autumn air. The thought of seeing her brought a tightness to his chest he could not explain.

_Valisa had grown up too, that he was never able to deny. While he was studying and training and moving up the Royal Navy ranks, she had been building a piracy empire and a reputation feared on every coast in this country. She had gone from a violent little girl in a dull paisley frock, her pale freckled face dominated by overlarge and hostile eyes, to a brutal woman draped in jewelry, secrets, and expensive men's clothing. He would never understand that about her, but sometimes he thought of how uncomfortable dresses must be, and got the idea fairly clearly. Still, he would never wear a dress, so why did she get to wear what he might?_

_Her behavior was inexcusable, that much was true. Piracy was punishable by death!_

He had a fiery and passionate hatred for her, but he could not deny her beauty, and he also could not deny his own hypocrisy.

Yes, when the ships were docked at the same time it _did _get rather interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I decided to post the second chapter too, as incentive for people to read this. Y'all won't always be so lucky as to have a 2-chapter day- or a 2-chapter hour.

* * *

_The Inevitable 1700s Piracy AU: Chapter Two_

* * *

Dualscar's cape is on and he's donned the most sturdy pair of boots he owns, as if that will help him. His dismount onto shore is met with a salute by the officers lined up along the dock.

"Good afternoon**, **Admiral," one says, and Dualscar repeats the greeting with a "Good afternoon, Officer." He walks determinedly over to the _Valiant Fortune _and examines the ship.

It's a beautiful fluyt, that much he'll give her. It's anchored at port and seemingly has been for a while- the flags are lowered in a position that's hard to achieve and isn't worth for short term dockings.

The gangplank is down, so he decides to take a chance and walk up it. His usually smooth and calm demeanor is a façade; inside, he is trembling.

He knows where he's going. He quietly sneaks below decks, feeling his heart flutter with nervousness. Most of her crew must be out in town, because there are not scowling pirates strutting down the corridors. The ship rocks slowly in the waves and the scent of saltwater fills his nostrils. He finally reaches the door he's looking for: a high-quality cedar door with a crystal knob.

He turns the knob. To his surprise, the door is unlocked. He silently chides her for being careless with her own safety before realizing he shouldn't give her tips on how to survive.

The room is elaborate, with built-in mahogany bookshelves covered in maps and papers and thick, dusty books. The floor is wooden, which is in common with the rest of the ship, but expensive-looking Persian rugs are placed here and there, in testimony to her fancy tastes.

A wine rack is also built into the wall, and it isn't empty. Bottles of vodka, beers, wines, and nice liquor are stacked in the rack, along with a variety of wineglasses. Some bottles are smashed on the floor, rolling about with the movement of the boat. Tables and chairs pressed against walls are map-covered as well.

And then there's the bed- the dominant focus of the room. It's attached to the wall and the ceiling for protection against sliding due to the roiling sea waves, but it isn't the basic sailor beds her crew likely have. It's a king-sized four-poster bed with fluffy blankets everywhere and ornamental pillows on the floor.

Just as he expected, she's lying in it, dark hair standing out amongst the white pillows. She's nestled into the warm covers. He walks closer and sits on the edge of her bed, and she sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Dual?" she murmurs. He gets a sudden racing feeling in his chest when he sees she's wearing his soft purple overshirt as a nightgown- the one with the broken buttons that just skims his hips but must come all the way to her thighs. She leans forward and tangles her hands in his hair, her fingers on the nape of his neck. Her lips press against his, hard and very near to violent.

_His relationship with a pirate might sound contradictory, but he can explain. Mostly._

_She had grown beautiful- as he had already noticed- and their rivalry often brought them close. In towns, in actual fights on the decks of their ships, and, one fateful time, on the dancefloor._

_They had been in a coastal village in Spain, both at the same bar. She had been dressed beautifully that day, in a frankly indecent dress with a plunging neckline. He had been following her so he could arrest her for piracy, but he found himself watching her whirl to the Spanish guitar and piano tunes, her face flushed with drink and heat. He had tried to entice her into being caught; he had asked for a dance._

_She had accepted, smirking, and throughout the song as their bodies moved together he kept telling himself to pull her aside now and bring her to the officers in the town. But he could not. Something about that night had set his mind on a different path. The sheer hatred he felt for her still burned in his mind, but something else burned too._

_She had handed him enough drinks and taken sips of them herself that by one o'clock that night he was taking her back to his room above the bar. Clothes came off and curses were uttered and lips crashed together. Her body had been just as breathtaking without breeches and overshirts- perhaps more so. _

_Dualscar never forgot to mention his hatred for her, nor did she; but there was another feeling between them that could not be denied: lust. His Godly conscience hated his behavior, but his body didn't hate it nearly as much._

A good two hours later, she's leaning against his bare chest, tracing the trail of hair from his stomach to his waist with two fingers. Her head rests against his collarbone and he can feel her tangled hair on his skin. Her own skin is flushed with desire and marked with bruises he created.

"Where have you been, you _useless_ _bastard_?" Her voice lilts up a little and she rests her chin on his chest to look into his eyes.

"Important Royal Navy business. None of your affairs, pirate."

Valisa's legs twine with his and she presses those rosy, soft lips against his shoulder. "I doubt it's not any of my 'ffairs, considering you're chasin' me all over the coast."

Dualscar begins rubbing her back, inhaling her scent of whiskey and saltwater and sex, and she shifts closer. He feels a laugh involuntarily slip from his lips. "You wonder why I chase you, darling, but you weren't wondering when you were screaming my name."

"I made you scream _first,_" she brags, smirking. He feels a shiver of mixed hatred and love run up his spine.

"Why are you here?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. She grins.

"We needed supplies. Nobody knows us here."

"So that's where your men are?"

"Yes."

Valisa's crew is a rowdy one. Unshaven and unwashed men and boys seeking drink, gold, and most of all adventure. She keeps order, but only by shouting until she's hoarse.

"I should arrest you," he says, which he keeps vowing, vowing, vowing to do, but they both know the promise is as empty as her liquor cabinet at the end of the month.

"Oh, sure, yes, tie me up." Her smile is absolutely devious.


End file.
